


It's Up To You

by Ludella



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 07:14:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3372539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludella/pseuds/Ludella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iron Bull left most of the nit picky parts of their "relationship" up to Dorian. Without having any proper romance before, he had no expectations, standards, or anything to fall short on. It was easier like this, and for the most part, working out well. As long as Dorian was pleased--well, that's what mattered.</p><p>But the system had its faults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Up To You

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a recent trend in a lot of Doribull works where Iron Bull just leaves everything up to Dorian, which I love! But I wanted to see how it could go wrong; there also aren't enough Doribull from Iron Bull's POV.
> 
> I also wanted to try going through Bull's spy mindset but I think he ended up sounding more like Cole. Oops.

They started their “relationship” when Dorian stumbled into his room, somewhat drunk and ready to take the qunari up on his many (many) offers. Iron Bull used the term relationship loosely, as anything between two people could be defined as a relationship, be it friendly, malicious, unfamiliar, anything. Despite how they bickered, they could at least agree that there was _something_ going on. _What_ it was was where they began to disagree.

And that was why Bull didn’t bring it up all that often. Or, at all, really. The only times they spoke of it were upon Dorian’s prompting, be it on his own curiosity or going off of the comment of a party member. Sometimes they argued, with Bull trying to calm the other down and Dorian living up to his nickname of a hotheaded mess. Other times the Iron Bull was able to let it drop and things carried on normally.

In all honesty, Bull preferred the confrontations that ended in heated debate, going back and forth upon rhetorical questions trying to be answered with another. At least at the end of the night they agreed upon something and could move forward. The times it was dropped, Iron Bull found Dorian acting much more distant and tense for a while, obviously lost in his presumptuous Tevinter mind that often over-thought every little movement. Dorian would wait until a sarcastic word from Iron Bull set him off, and then they were at it all over again.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

When Dorian sat up, moving quietly as to not wake his partner, the Bull was already turning to watch him with a pretend-snore to appear natural. It only took a few quick moments to analyze the situation-- _his clothes are folded on the floor, yet he rose to sit, not to retrieve them, so he mustn’t mean to leave. The hand Dorian runs through his hair is one of simple exhaustion, shaking his hair out before twirling his facial hair idly--he doesn’t seem hastened to get up, either. Shoulders tight, just barely hunched over--he wants to lay down? A busy mind._

Ben-Hassrath training was useful in more than just work.

He decided it’s worth him making his presence known. “You got weird shit bustlin’ around in there?” Iron Bull asked, unable to keep his voice from sounding sleepy as he was still laying down.

Dorian didn’t appear surprised to hear him, almost as if he had expected to be addressed. He probably did; Dorian was no stupid man, and definitely one of the most intelligent and adept partners Bull slept with. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the mage had already figured out a couple of his tactics.

“Compared to my Tevinter brethren or the folk here at Skyhold? I need a base with which I can appear more normal by,” Dorian exhaled a small laugh _(not forced, natural, he’s alright--still tense)._

“Don’t you mean ‘but the Iron Bull, won’t anything I think be twisted into being strange due to my Tevinter heritage alone?’” Iron Bull said in a mock Tevinter accent as he sat up, earning a better laugh from Dorian this time. The first hadn’t been bad, but the more the better; he seemed to be relaxing, at least.

“Or something of the sort.” He fell silent. Bull gave him the time to think. When he was like this, the Iron Bull knew Dorian had the full intention of speaking with him, given he had the time to arrange his words. Thankfully he was a patient man that didn’t mind giving him that opportunity--Maker knows he had been patient enough for Dorian to come around at all. “Funny how things have gotten, aren’t they…”

Ah, there it was. Dorian didn’t sound reminiscent that often, and when he did, it caught Bull’s attention faster than anything. It was a side of the man that not many saw, when they weren’t mere reflections on his homeland. “Where’s the punchline? The pesky darkspawn lord trying to usurp divinity, or the group of misfits from every corner of Thedas trying to stop him?”

Dorian snorted. “The part where I’m not miserable in the middle of it, for one.”

“There’s definitely some perks,” Bull agreed, finally determining Dorian was well enough for him to be able to gingerly wrap an arm around the mage’s waist.

That got more of a reaction. Dorian didn't jump, but his brows raised high on his forehead in surprise. He turned to look at Bull to find he was closer than expected, now face to face. It was Bull who closed the gap and pressed their foreheads together once the other didn't pull away.

"You know..."

"Hm?" Iron Bull's voice practically rumbled, sending an unwanted shiver down his spine.

"That's one of your qualities that really pisses me off."

Now he had Bull's thin brows going up. Wasn't often Dorian used crude language--or anything so downright _Southern_. And yet his face didn't change, still complacent and at rest.

"You're straightforward, but you never _say_ anything. Assertive, but you _do_ nothing. It's infuriating, really."

"I just want you to know that it's--"

"It's up to me, I know," Dorian cut him off. “You’ve only explained so every other second we’re together. Every little decision must be me, me, me--”

“And that’s how it’s going to stay,” Bull finished, retracting his touch and falling back into bed. Though he kept his eye closed, he continued to listen, and Dorian didn’t immediately lay back down. It’d be easier to assess if he could see him, but just that fact alone--was he hesitating? Worried, stressed, unresolved issues, anger… it could be anything. In mere moments the mage was back in the crook of his arm (less endearing as much as it was practical, given the small space) and sighing in exhaustion. Iron Bull waited until his breathing was a steady sleeping pace before allowing himself to relax.

A vague thought of _oh, so that’s what it was,_ crossed his mind before allowing himself to fall back asleep.

It’s a few weeks before the next confrontation.

After arriving back in Skyhold from a long trip to the Hissing Wastes, Iron Bull was busy. He spent the first few nights home with a book in his hand and a few more stacked below his seat, ready to pull out when he finished the one he was working with. It wasn’t unusual for the qunari to find himself fascinated with something he had only vaguely heard of, then retreating into a period of pure study to read up and educate himself on the subject. Sometimes it was for pure enjoyment’s sake rather than anything work related.

He’s a bit disappointed when the only quiet pastime he had was interrupted.

“I want to end this,” were the first words out of Dorian’s mouth as soon as the door opened, and if that didn’t catch the Iron Bull’s attention immediately, nothing would. Thankfully, he did, and instantly had his eyes focused on the mage marching through the door.

_A scowl on his face--but expressions are easy to fake, could he be faking it? No, he’s upset, but maybe not at Bull. His tone’s harsh but his posture is more relaxed than it is tense. An act. Probably trying to provoke him, trying to stir something. What reason did he have? A reason. Give proof for a reason, ammunition for a fight he already knew the end of to make it easier. Robes are nice, but he hasn’t seen him wear them often. Choosing his clothes for a while, what would be best--not for this occasion in particular, in general, stressed. Worried about appearances, is this because of appearances?_

“I suppose you’ve got a reason for it?” The Iron Bull questioned, not showing any of the confusion or slight hurt he may or may not be feeling on his face.

Dorian took a breath to speak and held it, letting it out again in an exasperated sigh. He didn’t know where to begin. “My reason for ending is a result of there being no reason for _beginning_ ,” he counters in a sure voice. Must’ve been planning that line, it sounds good. And it hits.

Bull nodded, took a moment to gather his thoughts, book long forgotten on his lap by now. He considered standing, walking to Dorian and speaking with him face to face, but felt the action would be inappropriate as of now. Dorian would feel more confident and comfortable speaking his mind without a qunari looming over him, after all. “And… you’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Well… it’s all up to you, whatever you want. Hey, don’t worry about it, alright? We’re good,” Bull offered with a friendly smile, momentarily offering a hand towards him for a shake before waving it casually.

Dorian made a ‘tch’ sort of laugh and the smile remained on his face. Iron Bull was grateful for at least that. “Again with that--is that a qunari thing, perhaps?”

“What, us brute savages? You forget I’m an exception, the only one with enough decency to even ask,” Bull countered, lowering his voice in a comical villain-esque tone. Dorian didn’t laugh this time, but his smile didn’t falter.

“I’ll see you later, Iron Bull--thanks,” were Dorian’s last parting words before leaving the room, visibly more relaxed than when he entered. Iron Bull wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that it had all gone rather quickly and without dispute. Would’ve made for some awkward interactions if they were left with the Inquisitor on some mission or another.

It was easier like this. Iron Bull leaned back in his chair but didn’t pick his book back up just yet. He had seen it firsthand, hadn’t he? Dorian was in much better spirits to have things cleared up and finally settled, it was best like this. And it wasn’t like Bull’s “feelings” mattered at all in comparison; he didn’t have history with things like romance, so no expectations, so no being disappointed. Dorian, however, did. It was just pure logic that he would try to accommodate to those standards and concerns instead of his own, whatever they may be.

And again came the issue of _battle_. They wouldn’t be able to cooperate if things got messy between them (although Bull would admit that they were considerably better while they were “together” in an odd sense). There were a couple jabs from companions, humorous or not, but it never affected performance. The fact that they were able to leave now with no bitter feelings or resentment, well, it was great! Wouldn’t have it any other way.

But he didn’t pick his book up for the rest of the night, and he didn’t travel down to the tavern until a bit later.

It was just better this way.

“So what _do_ you want?” Dorian asked a month later, having mysteriously wound up naked and spent in the Iron Bull’s bed yet again. Bull didn’t question him when he first entered his room, let the mage do as he pleased before they were back on their regular schedule. He had to admit, the feeling of the soft ‘vint curled up in his arm had been a little missed.

“Oh, just what every other guy needs; some good food and good beer.”

Dorian gave him a look, moustache quirked up before he merely sighed and turned to face the other way. He moved Bull’s arm with his hands to hold him better as to make sure the other knew he wasn’t legitimately upset (and of course Bull knew). “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Hey, you’re the one who came back for more,” Iron Bull comments with a smirk, curling his fingers at Dorian’s waist to feel him shiver.

“I’m also scheduled for the seat next to our Inquisitor in the battle against a mock god, yet I haven’t run away yet. The obvious explanation is that this Southern air’s merely gotten to my head.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Right, Bull had nearly forgotten about that--ever since trekking through the Temple of Mythal, the Inquisitor had made preparations for the final confrontation a priority. Their final party that they would assemble when taking on Corypheus had been decided almost only a week later. It was no surprise Dorian would be chosen almost immediately due to his overwhelming proficiency in magic as well as a personal drive that set him apart from most of their companions. And with drive came Cassandra in the second slot, not to make light of her superior combat abilities. Lastly, for the sake of having one more close-range fighter, Cole would be offering his assistance as well.

Much to his dismay, Iron Bull would be wherever Cullen sent him; there was no telling where that would be, but it wasn’t by the Inquisitor’s side for the final blow. But he had to channel that part of him that trusted their leader to have made the right choice in their party, as upsetting as it was. Even more so that Dorian _would_ be.

His voice brought the Bull from his thoughts. “You got weird shit bustlin’ around in there?”

He had to laugh, remembering when he’d said the same words. “Ravaging small villages, massacring women and children, war, doom, destruction--regular qunari things.”

That pulled a chuckle from Dorian as well as a nuzzle into his shoulder as he got more comfortable. It was well past any time the altus went to sleep on his own, and the two candles on the bedstand Bull had lit beforehand were just about extinguished. He had to admit, it made for a nice atmosphere at least.

“You bring forth an ire in me I’ve never felt so strongly.”

“If this is how you express your anger, I think I’m pretty okay with that.”

They didn’t have the chance to formally meet in private again afterwards, the temple being attacked before they had an opportunity.

Iron Bull was to go and man the area below where the big guys had taken to the sky, defending the people with the others. To no surprise, it was the most intense battle he’d ever encountered-- even against any dragon. Corypheus’s men were inhuman, fighting with nothing to lose. The pressure of losing everything, the anger at knowing how much had already been lost, the rush to protect what was already doomed… it was more than he had felt in his entire life in every moment.

His comrades were besides him, battling with the same ferocity that they’d built up to this moment. The Chargers were back closer to Skyhold to hold down the fort (and god, he worried, they better be safe). All their commanders, ambassadors, spies, agents--everyone who could hold a sword used it. The sky was pitch black and the only light they had came from their torches, fire, and the magic being thrown back and forth between mages. Occasionally, the sky would brighten in a flash as a ferocious roar took over their ears, unable to hear anything else.

Iron Bull was afraid.

And it yet only lasted a few hours.

Everything was over all at once. The fighting on the ground had been lessening progressively until the only enemies remaining were being chased down. Bull and the rest were left to wait, watching the sky, hoping for the best, until they could see nothing. Bright white. Crashing, crumbling, and when he looked up, the platform the rest of the party had been battling on was descending.

The Inquisitor was the only one to step forward, announcing the end.

Everything they’d fought for had ended, just like that. In a way, it was hard to believe, and didn’t register immediately. He had a feeling it wouldn’t really make it to him for a while, and he was alright with that. For now, it was as the boss said; they return to Skyhold.

Iron Bull got caught in the wave of moving people, unable to go elsewhere but back with the rest of the army. Everyone moved at an equal pace as to let the injured and exhausted take their time despite their hurry to return home. They’d be able to rest there. He had no qualms; he was in a rush to get back to his boys, and the boss had already proclaimed it was all over. So he went with it.

“You think it’s true?” Bull glanced over as he heard somebody addressing him to see Sera staring forward, not even looking at him. “The end… d’you really think this is it?”

_Eyes sullen, sunken, drooping, empty--afraid and worn and tired. Knuckles white, stained red, and clutching her bow, she’s ready to keep fighting. She doesn’t believe it. Her shoulders want to drop and relax, they can’t, she’s tired, she’s finished. Short and uneven steps--is it safe to leave?_

“Yeah,” Bull decided, throwing out a big hand to clamp over her shoulder. “It’s over, Sera; big heroes, all of us. We really wrecked Corypheus’s shit today.”

He saw her smile weakly; she’s trying to be optimistic. “We did, didn’t we? Fuckin’ A…”

She didn’t say anything else but walked silently by his side. Safer there than anywhere else, he figured.

Before they were even back in Skyhold, the carts of bodies came forward. Each had a sheet draped over them, proceeding faster than the hordes of half-dead marching men. Iron Bull paid them little to no mind besides a simple nod of acknowledgement--they had lost a lot of good men today, and it would be a wonder if he hadn’t lost any of his Chargers.

Cole was at his side before he knew it. “The Iron Bull, you’re steady?”

Bull would’ve jumped in surprise at the sudden company if he were not so tired. He gave a sigh. “Yeah, somewhat. You seem pretty good yourself, Cole?”

He nodded. “Yes… I was worried you would not be, but to see that you are--it’s good.”

There wasn’t much to say otherwise. They’d escaped the end of the world, small talk was one of his last concerns, as nice of a guy Cole was. For once, his dead face and expression weren’t out of place among the soldiers they were drifting beside. They were nearly in Skyhold now, finally at the foot of the bridge and god, all Bull could focus on now was getting back, checking on his boys, and celebrating the defeated day with--

“That’s right, Cole--” he had the boy’s attention again, “is Dorian ahead with the boss?” The lights of the army were just now heading into the fort, cheers able to be heard from the back.

Cole didn’t answer him. He stared up at him blankly, almost as if his eyes… went right past him. It took a few moments for him to nod.

“Good.”

As soon as they stepped through the gates, the celebratory roars were louder, noise ringing and nearly bursting his ear as it had during the battle, but with better intentions. He didn’t mind this time, added to them, even, lifting his axe in the air in glee. His boys were at his side almost immediately, hooting and hollering cheerfully upon seeing that everyone was safe and sound. There was no greater relief than seeing Krem and the others rushing towards him, and had he not spent years training vigorously to hide his emotions, he likely would’ve cried.

A formal celebration would be held at a later date (likely in a couple of nights) but hell if everyone didn’t plan on being drunk and merry tonight as well. Iron Bull had held a good number of injuries, most of which would probably scar, and those would need treating soon. Not to mention he wanted to hear the Chargers’ reports… On his way to the tavern to start fixing himself up, Bull was stopped by a hand tightly grasping at his wrist.

“The Iron Bull!” Cole spoke loudly to make sure he was heard. Bull was ready to make a joke, laugh at Cole for still being so serious after they had just saved the world when he saw his expression. He immediately sobered up; something was wrong.

“Cole… what happened…?”

“When I asked, you answered. I thought you knew… I thought you knew.”

“Knew what, Cole?”

“Dorian…” His stomach lurched. Again, Cole’s eyes stared past Bull, and turning to see what he was focused on…

The carts.

“Iron Bull, I thought--”

He ripped his arm out of Cole’s weak hold, though it didn’t take much effort. Bull was across the yard in seconds and pushing anyone else out of his way.

There was no way.

There was a sense of exhaustion he had never felt before as his adrenaline began to pump for the second hardest time in his life, the first being a mere few hours ago. He was tired. His body ached. But he couldn’t slow down or stop or just--

One cart was less full than the others, the white sheet stained red falling shorter than the rest. He approached it slowly, though everything in his body told him to quickly get it over with, pull it aside--and yet he also couldn’t. If he didn’t move anything, if he didn’t look, then it wasn’t true. If he didn’t open the box, he wouldn’t have to find out. He could keep believing what he wanted.

Bull yanked the sheet off, and everything came crashing down.

“I thought you knew… Bull…”

He couldn’t hear Cole, but even if he could, he had no words.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing to say. Nothing he could do.

There were dead people who looked like they were asleep. People who appeared as if any moment they could open their eyes and stand, shake off the rust and get right along with life. Depending on the person, it was harder to accept that way, took longer to process, took more force. They’re peaceful, still, and with just a trace of life still in them… but not.

Dorian wasn’t one of people.

From head to toe, Dorian was dead. His face was slashed on the side from temple to chin, obviously having bled profusely (what reason was there to bandage a corpse?). His robes, so delicately cared for no matter the event were torn up, revealing where used to be skin and was now only blood and gore. Nearly the entire front of his clothes had been ripped to shreds; he must've taken a direct blow. His eyes hadn't been closed properly, opened just slightly, and definitely not their original color.

Iron Bull quickly laid his hand over Dorian's eyes, sliding them shut. He didn't need to see. He couldn't.

There was no mistaking it, no wishful thinking, no 'what if' or 'but' or 'maybe's.

Just silence.

Yet his thoughts were anything but quiet. They all came to him, slowly, and then all at once, filling his head with words he had already said, words he’d wished he’d said. All that he didn’t say. Every time… what had he been doing? What had he been thinking?  He had so many opportunities, and so much had already been done. All he couldn’t take back now. All he couldn’t fix, correct, or _clarify_.

Clarify. Did he ever know? He never said it--Bull felt his throat tighten. He never said anything.

The warmth curled in his side, pulling his arm closer. The comfortable banter punctuated with a laugh. Fights Bull manipulated to end well, what would happen if they didn’t? Skin always so smooth, strong, and dark, forever marred in his memory. Unable to think of his eyes as their original color.

The Chargers were alive. Corypheus had been defeated. The day was won.

“Cole,” Bull began in a quiet voice, not needing to hear anything to know he was listening, “you do that… thing, right?”

He couldn’t finish his own sentence, but knew Cole understood. The spirit appeared almost conflicted at the request, glancing down at the body laid between them and then back up at Bull. The qunari wasn’t looking anywhere near his direction.

Cole voice was quiet, yet deeper, and Bull immediately understood who he was imitating. He regretted asking immediately.

“‘I wish it had been up to him, too.’”


End file.
